And thus begins Chapter Three...

The mirror trap I had fallen into so long ago was no longer a trap, only a disintegrated platform where it had once stood: a heap of shattered boards tangled in decaying stage curtains.

Erik turned sideways as we fell, so that he'd land first and take the brunt of the impact, and I heard him grunt involuntarily as we landed.

My head smacked into his shoulder blade, and for a long moment I could only see a silent curtain of blinking, fading stars. My feet had collided painfully with an old board, and I was sure there was a line of bruises forming along the side of my right arm, where Erik's hands hadn't been able to protect me from the landing.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Do you mind standing up? I can't move."

"I can't. Your feet are caught in my skirts."

From above us there came the angry voice of a disappointed Officer Fabre: "Trebuchet, take six men and go downstairs. Block the left-wing corridor. They're still on the second floor – hurry!"

I fought free of Erik's boots, ripping my skirts in the process, and half-dragged, half-helped him to his feet. He leaned against me for a second – I thought I felt something wet drip onto my shoulder.

The old storage room was buried in darkness. I couldn't see anything but a thin line of light where the door had to be, and Erik's face (was he bleeding?) was invisible in the blackness.

"Are you hurt?" I asked again. "You're dripping on me."

"Just a scratch on my cheek. Nothing serious. I can hear them coming. We need to move."

He pushed his way to the door, wading through the mass of old costumes and broken set pieces, one arm still about my waist. I kicked what I thought was a dress off my foot and tugged at the door handle. It swung open, and as light broke over our dirty, bleeding faces, the seven policemen in the corridor drew their weapons.

"Come quietly," the first officer said, breathless from exertion. He had to have just run down the stairs. His face was youthful and unlined, but I didn't doubt he knew what he was doing. "Both of you. The lady first."

I stepped out into the corridor, itching to swipe a cobweb from the back of my neck, but I decided it would be better to keep my hands in the air. One of the other policemen, a dark-haired man with a thin mustache, took hold of my arm and pulled me to the side. I didn't resist.

Erik followed without preamble.

"Turn around," said the first officer. "Close the door."

Erik closed the door.

"Face the wall."

Erik turned to the wall, and the officer holstered his weapon. "Hands behind you."

I watched silently as Erik was handcuffed.

"Officer," I said, "I demand that you take me with him."

"Officer Fabre will decide what to do with you, Mademoiselle Dubois," said the policeman, stepping away from Erik. "This man will be taken to the police station."

I opened my mouth to protest, but a voice broke over mine.

"She can come too, Trebuchet," said Officer Fabre. He came down the corridor towards us, his face a little less blank than before, his lips lifted a little at the edges, his eyes crinkled at the corners. He was happy.

I gritted my teeth. This was idiotic.

"But don't handcuff her. Let's be off."

Erik said calmly, "On what charges are you arresting me, Officer?"

Fabre dropped his pistol into its holster. "Evading the police, stealing, trespassing, and possible murder charges. We can talk about it in more detail at the station."

"Fabre," I said, "I think you've made your point. You have Erik in custody. You want me to do an assignment for you. I accept. Let Erik go, and we can talk about this like civilized people."

"Mademoiselle Dubois," Fabre said, "you are very persistent, but I don't trust you without the Phantom. He's coming with us, and so are you. Let's go."

The policeman holding my arm tugged, and the other men swung into place behind me as Fabre led Erik up the corridor, his gray head held high in triumph.

We had reached the entrance to the street when I realized what Fabre intended to do.

He sent two men ahead of him to open the heavy front doors. They pushed the wooden partitions open, and Fabre went down the long row of steps, Erik at his side, policemen all around us, their backs straight, arms swinging. It was deep night, but the streetlamps were shining brilliantly in the darkness, and I felt sure that we were both completely visible.

We heard the reporters before we saw them. There was a sudden tumult of noise, a shiver of movement along the dark sidewalks, and then they burst into sight all around us.

"It's him!"

"Is it true you've captured the Phantom of the Opera, Officer Fabre?"

"Is it possible to question him?"

"Let me through, I have to speak to him!"

"Officer Fabre! Do you have a statement regarding the nature of your case?"

"Did the Phantom come willingly or did he attack you, Officer?"

"Why is he wearing a mask?"

"Take off the mask! Tell us who he is!"

"Pardon me, excuse me, give us space," Officer Fabre said loudly, but he was smiling faintly, and the reporters swarmed around us like overgrown moths, waving their notebooks and pens, their eyes lit with feverish curiosity.

He stopped on the steps, Erik looming inches above him. Fabre was shorter than I had thought.

Erik's masked face was remote. I fought free of the policeman holding my arm, and pushed my way past another policeman to him.

I wrapped both hands around his arm, figuring that if I hung onto him hard enough, they'd decide to leave me alone. I was right: the policemen behind me tried to take hold of my shoulders and tug me away, but a look from Fabre stopped them. It seemed he didn't want a scuffle while savoring his turn in the limelight.

The reporters were still shouting and cavorting around us; I could feel the press of their bodies as they edged closer. Fabre raised an authoritative hand in the air, and they quieted down.

"Yes, to answer all of your questions, we have captured the Phantom. This young lady with him-"

"Katelienne Laurent, yes?" said the nearest reporter, a fair-haired man with a ferocious smile of interest. "Once engaged to the previous manager of the Opera. And the woman who wrote-"

"Now engaged to the Phantom," Fabre interrupted, and I felt Erik tense next to me. I glanced up at his face – the half I could see was stiff with rage.

Fabre was giving too much away, and everything Erik and I had built here was crumbling around us in a matter of seconds. The reporters whispered among themselves, their voices building to a crescendo, and I felt my legs shaking. I saw one of the reporters sketching Erik's face on his notepad – he shaded the half-mask, outlined the eyes, began to draw the slope of his cheek.

"Why have you arrested him?" demanded another voice, this one a woman's. I looked away from the artist and saw a slight woman with curly blond hair, her eyebrows drawn down in a mixture of confusion and disagreement. Her notepad was covered in miniscule handwriting. "What crime have you accused him of?"

"As we all know," another reporter said, cutting off Fabre as the Officer opened his mouth to speak, "the Phantom is a murderer and criminal. He should be put away."

"Oh, be quiet," I snapped, taking a step towards the man who had spoken. He stared back at me with wide brown eyes, surprised at being addressed. "You know those are only rumors. What sort of idiot would believe them?"

"But why does he wear a mask, then?" the man countered, turning from me. "Take it off, Officer – show us who he is!"

Fabre ignored him. The interview was over. He snapped his fingers, and the policemen behind me began to walk. Erik and I were herded down the steps through the reporters, to the carriage waiting for us at the curb. I swallowed hard as I looked at it.

It was a prison vehicle. The sides were painted black, and written on them were the words:

The Official Prison of Paris.

Fabre pulled the side door open, and Erik and I entered.

The door slammed, the carriage bounced as two policemen sprang up onto the box seat, and then we began to move.

We were off.

Off to prison.

They separated Erik and I as soon as we got out of the carriage: I was brought to one of the interrogation rooms upstairs, and he was sent downstairs to a cell.

Fabre sat across from me at a dirty table in a tiny, blackened room, his hands folded.

"As you have accepted the assignment, Mademoiselle Dubois," he said, "we should discuss the nature of your job. You will be 'vacationing' in Venice, Italy in the disguise of a French tourist on her honeymoon. You will be paid ten thousand francs for your trouble."

"And Erik?" I said, very quietly, biting off the words. "What will he be doing?"

"Erik will be taken care of very comfortably. I have arranged for him to stay under house arrest – not his home, of course, but a friend's. You will not have to worry about him."

"I doubt that. And what if I refuse to cooperate?" I said. "What then, Officer?"

Fabre considered me. "We will send Erik to trial. If you do cooperate, however, when you return from your assignment, we'll let your fiancé go."

I looked hard at him. "I'll need more than your word, Officer. I require something else."

"You never give up, do you?" Fabre said, chuckling humorlessly. "What is it?"

"If I'm going to Italy, Erik is coming with me," I said. "Otherwise I refuse to do anything, and since it is clear I'm the only one you want for this job, you really can't send Erik to trial. It would only make me less interested in helping you."

Fabre had stopped smiling his blank smile. He tightened his lips and looked away, eyes intent on something in the distance.

I waited.

"Very well," he said, after a long moment. "Erik may come with you. But he is still a prisoner of France, and he will have to be under guard at all times."

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Fabre said.

The door opened, and Nadir entered, his dark face drawn with disgust, annoyance, and anger.

"You idiot," he said to Fabre. "You bloody, insolent, arrogant fool. How dare you jeopardize my friends' lives over something as stupid as this."

"Sit down," Fabre said, without rancor. "Remember that I am in charge, not you, Monsieur Khan. The Inspector must be stopped, and he is more important than a wedding or two."

"Nadir," I said, breathless at the shock. "What are you doing here? Why did you call him here?"

I had directed my last question at Fabre, but he ignored me. Nadir shook his head helplessly at me.

"I didn't know about any of this until ten minutes ago," he said. "Irene, I am so sorry. Where's Erik?"

"Locked up," I snapped, feeling my legs begin to shake again. "Downstairs. What is going on? Explain at once, both of you."

Fabre blinked at my officious tone. "Nadir Khan, along with an undercover detective, is going to be coming with you to Venice. We'll have to make arrangements now for your fiancé – I didn't think it would be this complicated – but we'll manage. Nadir, of course, is coming because he knows the most about the case besides me, and I'm not able to travel to Venice at this time."

"Actually," Nadir interrupted, "the two people who know most about the case are Irene and Erik. Not you or me."

"Neither of which could be hired at the time we needed them," Fabre said, "seeing as one of them was embroiled in fake names and suspicious deaths, and the other was hidden somewhere in the Opera. You were the best choice, Monsieur Khan. And now, Mademoiselle Dubois, you are."

"Explain why you need me," I said. "And then let Erik and I go."

"The second part will be impossible," Fabre said. He looked at Nadir. "Sit down. Mademoiselle Dubois, you will be going on your assignment tonight. I thought it would be best if I severed your ties to the Opera as completely as possible and made it very clear that you are in jail for harboring a criminal. The Inspector will not suspect that you are coming after him."

It was difficult not to slap him, but I controlled myself. "You've ruined everything I've worked for, Officer. My name is destroyed. You've connected me to the Phantom, and now everyone who knows me personally is in danger of losing their good reputations as well. Erik is similarly ruined. He can't return to the Opera; everyone knows what he looks like, and the mystery of the Phantom itself is gone. The Opera sales will drop, and the place I've called home for the past year will crumble."

Officer Fabre cleared his throat and met my eyes. For a moment I thought I saw a shadow of remorse pass over his face, but then he blinked and it was gone.

"It was necessary, Mademoiselle Dubois," he said. "Sit down, Monsieur Khan. Allow me to explain to each of you what kind of steps we will be taking in order to capture the Inspector. First, of course, I will explain why we believe he is still alive in the first place."

Nadir sat down across from me, his eyes cold as they watched Fabre.

The Officer began his tale.

Under the table, I fingered my tiny syringe of sedative, brushing the capped needle gently against my palm. The police hadn't searched me, though they'd searched Erik.

If I had to, I would also do what was necessary.